


Metamorphoses

by itsspanner



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Archery, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rating May Change, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Sparring, Sword Fighting, Warnings May Change, dtao3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27966584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsspanner/pseuds/itsspanner
Summary: When George beats Wilbur, both in an archery competition and for Dream's heart, Dream is forced to whisk George away to a secret sanctuary, out of the reaches of Wilbur. But not everything is as it seems...
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Wilbur Soot(onesided), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 59
Kudos: 145





	1. 0 - Cast List :]

**Author's Note:**

> :O this is just a character introduction, sorry  
> i do have most of it planned out and i'm working on the ending now so watch this space for the first chapter

George - human 

Tommy - demigod son of Philza - George's friend

Tubbo - demigod son of Wilbur - George's friend

Wilbur - god of archery and music - in love with Dream

Philza - King of the Gods

Dream - god of war and fighting - falls for George

Technoblade - god of love (a fact that irks him)

Fundy - nature god with the head of a fox (can shapeshift into a fox) - Wilbur's son

Eret - god of relationships and loyalty

Sapnap - god of wind and fire - Dream's best friend

Skeppy - god of the nether (underworld) and precious rocks and metals - Bad's husband

Bad - god of spring - Skeppy's husband

Punz - god of doors, gateways and portals

Niki - goddess of youth and beauty

Karl - [REDACTED] (can also shapeshift like Fundy)


	2. 1 - George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we meet our main character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O my first real chapter, enjoy! This ones short i think? But they should get longer as i get going.

If you asked George, he would never tell you that he was particularly special. He had average parents, average looks (everyone and their grandma had brown hair and brown eyes), and was averagely smart. However, George had one talent, and that was archery.

His dad was a fletcher and as such George had been familiar with bows since he was very small. George's dad always liked to tell the story of how, at only the age of four, George had shot a fly right out of the air. George blushed and rolled his eyes whenever his dad told that story, it was such nonsense, no four year old would be able to achieve such a feat.

However, as much as George liked to deny his skills, it was true, he was incredibly good at archery. His skills were noticed, at first by the other people in their village, but news quickly spread of the young boy who could hit any target and soon people from all across the country would come just to watch George practice archery.

George wasn't fond of the attention, he knew all the extra people in town helped his dad's business but just for once he wanted to be left alone. None of these people treated him like he was a human being, they prodded him and poked him and claimed he was a "phenomena", in fact, there were only two people in town that treated George like a normal person and they were Tommy and Tubbo.

It was on a seemingly normal day, when George had finally managed to escape the throngs of people that came to watch him, that our story begins.

"HEYYY BIG G," Tommy shouts as he emerges in the bush that George is currently hiding behind.

"Shut up Tommy, and get down or go away," George snaps, feeling a headache come on from just the presence of the younger boy.

"Sorry Big Man, anyway, have you heard what they're saying about you in town?" Tommy quietens down slightly and squats down next to George in the bush.

"...What are people saying?" George asks hesitantly, it can never be anything good if it's a rumour being spread about him.

"They're saying you're even better than Wilbur at archery, huuuge compliment right? I mean I know you're good but I wouldn't go that far..." Tommy continued rambling but George just blocked him out, the blonde assuredly talking about his own skills in comparison.

George groaned internally at the thought they were comparing him to a literal god, he knew himself that he couldn't possibly compare, (there was a voice in the back of his head telling him he was better though,) it was illogical. Wilbur, the god of archery, and George, just some random guy with a bow.

Nothing good ever came from being called god-adjacent, there were various cautionary tales told from a young age that demonstrated this, but George's "supporters" were throwing all that away and George dreaded the consequences of their actions.

Once he was done lamenting his life choices, George turned to Tommy, "So where's Tubbo?"

"He's attempting damage control n' shit, he knows his dad won't be happy if he hears the things they're saying about you, they won't listen though," Tommy lounges back in the grass, "fucking bastards," he adds as an afterthought.

"How's," George isn't sure whether he should continue his question as he knows its a sensitive subject but he forges on regardless, "how's your dad Tommy, heard from him at all?"

Tommy's expression sours and he crosses his arms across his chest defensively, "I still haven't heard from him, its been six months and ten days. Not that I've been counting."

"I'm sure he's just busy Tommy, he wouldn't just forget about you," George attempts to comfort him.

"Just busy my arse," Tommy grumbles, "I trained and everything and he just hasn't, he hasn't even bothered to turn up."

George knows Tommy tries to hide the fact that his dad never showing up bothers him, but it doesn't work, both him and Tubbo pretend it does to make Tommy feel better.

"Well you know what Tommy, if you keep training, soon you won't even need him because you'll be such a big man yourself," George says, half joking.

Tommy appears to take it to heart though and he perks up, "You really think so?"

"Yeah."

"And I'll get all the women," Tommy flexes his arms and grins to himself.

"Of course you will," George chuckles at Tommy's antics and finally settles down properly, considering himself safe for now from the crowds of people. No sooner has he done so, Tubbo comes crashing through the undergrowth towards them.

"Whoa, what's all the rush Tubbo?" Tommy sits up quickly in case they're in any immediate danger.

Tubbo puts his hands on his knees and pants for a second to catch his breath before looking to George, "Dad- Wilbur, he's heard what they're saying and is coming to see you!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed, comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Uhh btw can we normalise starting things and then never finishing them because i always start things and then end up hating my writing. Thanks.


	3. 2 - Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which dream and wilbur do things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :0 an update,,,, i hope you enjoy this :D  
> hehe longest chapter so far :))))

Earlier that day at Wilbur’s palace, Dream pushes through the heavy oak doors into the throneroom, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor.

“Dream! You made it!” Wilbur opens his arms welcomingly and grins widely but doesn’t deign to get up off his throne.

“I did, how are you doing Wilbur?” Dream hands off his heavy cloak to one of Wilbur’s servants and slips off his gloves.

“Splendid actually, and you?” Wilbur shifts on the plush, red material of his throne and crosses one of his legs over the other. He’s not fond of small talk, finding it awkward and cumbersome.

“I’m doing well,” Dream’s answer is purposefully blunt, he isn’t particularly interested in the conversation or the man he’s having it with, “What did you summon me for?” Dream’s not stupid, he can see the way Wilbur looks at him, not even bothering to hid his attraction, even now. He’s fairly sure Wilbur is going to propose, or at least attempt to, and he’d rather get it over with sooner rather than later.

“Well Dream, I was wondering,” Wilbur leans forward and laces his fingers together underneath his chin, “if you’d do me the honour of marrying me?”

“No.”

“Perfect, now,” Wilbur does a double-take, “Wait, no?”

Dream nods the affirmative, uncomfortable under Wilbur’s slowly cooling gaze, “I said no.” Wilbur isn’t used to being refused things and being told no has clearly thrown him for a loop.

“Well if you don’t mind me asking, why not?” Wilbur’s voice is sickeningly polite, a stark contrast to the way his jaw is clenched so hard his teeth are in danger of breaking.

Dream shrugs, “You could say I’m waiting for the right person.”

“And that’s not me?” Wilbur’s forgoing any niceties now, his brow furrowed, “Don’t get me wrong Dream, I’m sure that’s a noble cause and all, but you take no one, surely at some point you’re gonna get lonely, look for a warm bed, you know how it is.” Wilbur’s trying in vain to dredge up some semblance of comradery.

Dream frowning now too, unhappy at way Wilbur just keeps pushing, can’t he just respect Dream’s decision, “I’m looking for something a bit more meaningful than a quick fuck.”

Noticing he’s clearly overstepped some kind of line, Wilbur backpedals quickly, “Yeah yeah of course and that’s- that’s what I’m offering you.”

Dream hums, not taking much notice of what Wilbur says, it’s mostly just to get what he wants anyway, he doesn’t really mean it, “I’ve said no Wilbur, what more can you want from me?”

Wilbur uncrosses his legs and plants both feet on the floor to lean forward menacingly, “You know what I want, Dream.”

Dream takes a cautious half-step backwards, slightly intimidated by Wilbur despite knowing he’s absolutely more powerful than the brunette, “Look Wilbur, you can’t force me into anything, just drop it okay, I don’t want to ruin our friendship with this.” Dream puts his hands up like a surrender and smiles placatingly. 

Wilbur looks like he doesn’t quite believe Dream, squinting at him as if trying to look through the blonde, he does however relax back into his throne, “Hmm okay, well I was about to head out to the archery range before you arrived, what do you think about accompanying me?”

Dream weighs up the options in his head and decides that going with Wilbur would be harmless, it wouldn’t hurt to accompany the other man, “Sure.”

Wilbur smiles warmly, and it’s the first smile he’s directed at Dream that hasn’t made the blonde feel like he was being hunted. He gets up off his throne and walks towards Dream, who allows him this, not backing away. Dream does however pointedly ignore the offered arm that Wilbur extends towards him. In response Wilbur huffs quietly but doesn’t say anything, not wanting to cause another disagreement with Dream, not when he was trying to get back into his good books.

They head towards the archery range together, Dream putting space between them when Wilbur brushes against him too closely. Wilbur doesn’t seem to take the hint.

When they got to the archery range there were two servants ready with a bow each and a sheath full of arrows. Dream thanks them with a polite smile, both of the servants colouring red as he does.

The targets are nailed to trees approximately 50 feet away, the tiny red bullseye taunts Dream, daring him to miss.  
Wilbur is on the target to his right and they share a friendly nod before pulling out their first arrows.

Dream fiddles with his first arrow, struggling to notch it for a second, despite being the god of war, long range combat never was his strong suit, before it fits into the bowstring. When he looks up Wilbur has already notched his arrow and drawn it back, He faces away from Dream, the bowstring drawn back so his fingers lightly brush against the skin of his cheek.

Dream admires him for a bit, he looks ethereal in the morning sun, Wilbur’s tall, slim figure outlined by a halo of sunlight. His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath in and on the exhale he lets go of the string. The arrow flies in a magnificent arc, landing with a satisfactory thud right in the centre of the bullseye.

He nods curtly in satisfaction, and Dream can admit Wilbur is handsome, with his regal features, fluffy hair and bone china skin, but he’s just not for Dream. He finds Wilbur to be self important and entitled, Dream of course, knows he can’t really say anything, having an over-inflated ego practically came with being a god, but that doesn’t mean Dream enjoys Wilbur’s company anymore than he does, (which is very little).

Dream realises he’s been staring a little too long and drags his eyes away from the subtle curve of Wilbur’s waist, back to the red bullseye. He doesn’t however emerge from his thoughts and instead goes back to thinking about why on earth Wilbur would propose to him. Marriages between gods never worked out anyway, ‘til death do we part’ being quite a hard oath to swear as an immortal. So married gods usually ended up having flings with mortals anyway, monogamous relationships being very rare. There were exceptions to the rule of course, Bad and Skeppy being one of them but, generally gods just didn’t bother.

Dream shakes himself out of his thoughts to shoot his first arrow. He pulls back the bowstring, closing one eye as he lines up. His breath tickles against his fingers and he lets the arrow fly. It lands just shy of the bullseye but Wilbur graciously claps for Dream anyway.

Really, the proposal makes Dream wonder what Wilbur’s intentions are. Wilbur surely can’t be delusional enough to think he wouldn’t cheat on Dream. Dream is well aware of the brunette’s reputation as a playboy and, what Dream wanted most in the world, despite all the evidence that it was impossible, was for one person to be faithful to him. That’s why he doesn’t date anyone, gods and mortals alike. What Dream is unaware of however, is how soon he is going to be breaking this rule.

He’s halfway through notching his third arrow, and Wilbur is on his fifth, when Eret runs onto the range, out of breath. Wilbur lowers his bow immediately, startled by the sudden appearance of his friend.

“Eret, what’s wrong?” Wilbur steps towards them, holding his hand out in case Eret needs support, they do look halfway to keeling over.

Eret looks up at Wilbur and pushes their crown back so it isn’t wonky anymore, “There’s a guy in a town and he’s claiming he’s better than you at archery, people are flocking to see him rather than coming to your temples.” 

Wilbur doesn’t respond, in shock, what kind of stupid mortal would claim he’s better than a god?

Dream, rather than being shocked, is actually quite impressed, this mystery guy is either really good at archery or has a massive ego, and Dream’s hoping it’s the latter, it would be great to watch Wilbur put some self important guy in his place. But either option, this guy’s confidence levels must be through the roof.

Dream smirks and walk over to where Wilbur and Eret are standing, Wilbur still having not said anything. Clapping Wilbur’s shoulder so hard he stumbles forward and out of his shock, Dream says, “Well come on then, where is this guy? We’re gonna meet him right?”

Wilbur nods at Dream dumbly, “Uhuh yeah, you’re coming with?”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, this has to be one of the most interesting things to happen in at least a few centuries. No one’s ever claimed to better than a god before,” Dream grins in anticipation and looks to Eret, “Lead the way!”

Dream and Eret mount their horses that they got here on, Wilbur taking slightly longer as his horse wasn’t saddled or bridled yet. They ride off, following Eret as they lead the way down forest paths and through various small villages.

They start to slow down as a slightly larger village than the ones they’ve been passing comes into view.

“Is this it?” Dream asks, adjusting his cloak so it was less tangled from the wind and slipping his mask over his face, Dream didn’t like mortals seeing his face when they were aware it was him, it just made him nervous for some reason, he preferred his privacy and it made it simpler to pop out to the markets if no one knew this random blonde guy was a god.

Eret nods, “This is it, he lives here.”

They all slip off their horses and tie them to trees so they can’t wander off. They head into the village on foot only to be greeted by a huge crowd of people flocked in what is presumably the centre of the small town.

“What’s happening here then?” Wilbur raises his voice above the chattering of the gathered people with little effort. They all turn to look at him, gasps filter through the crowd as they realise who this person standing before them is. Murmurs erupt as none of them want to address Wilbur directly.

Then a voice pipes up from the back, “Wilbur!” A small boy with a mop of brown hair through the crowds to stand in front of Wilbur. When he sees who it is, Wilbur breaks out into a great smile.

“Tubbo, long time no see buddy,” Wilbur ruffles Tubbo’s hair and the boy smiles happily up at him, “How are you? And Tommy?”

“We’re good, doing well, although Tommy still hasn’t heard from his dad,” Tubbo answers, looking sad on behalf of Tommy.

“Well remind him if he ever needs anything he can come to me,” Wilbur says and Tubbo nods gratefully. 

Dream watches this exchange, bemused, before leaning towards Eret and asking quietly, “That’s his son right?”

Eret nods and hums in confirmation, satisfied with this answer, Dream goes back to watching Wilbur and Tubbo talk.

“Not that I’m not glad you’re here Wilbur, but why have you come?” Tubbo asks, looking up at Wilbur with his shiny, brown eyes.

“There’s rumours of someone claiming to be better than me at archery and he lives here,” Wilbur says, bending at the waist so he can look Tubbo in the eyes.

Tubbo’s face shines with recognition, “Oh yeah George, he’s really good you know, but I don’t know if he’s ever claimed to be better-”

Tubbo is cut off by the crowd, clearly emboldened by the familiar way Wilbur talks to Tubbo, piping up with various claims of George’s godliness. Wilbur frowns at this and the crowd quiets down again, but it’s too late, they’ve done the damage, he is angry and wants to show this “George”, who dares compare himself to Wilbur, who is boss.

“Can you get him for me Tubbo?” Wilbur asks, his voice scarily quiet and even.

“I don’t-”

“Now Tubbo,” Wilbur says, his voice harsh. Tubbo nods and doesn’t look back up at Wilbur, opting instead to scurry away in what Dream assumes is the direction of wherever George is.

Wilbur turns to Eret, his face stony and brows set in a harsh line, “Spread the word of this, I plan to challenge him to an archery competition, and beat him. I shall use him as an example of what happens when you compare yourself to a god, tell everyone you can, I want as many people to see this as possible.”

Eret nods and goes back to their horse, galloping off to the nearest village.

Dream and Wilbur stand in silence as about one hundred people look at them expectantly, they say nothing, instead waiting for the return of Tubbo with George.

Suddenly, the crowd parts in a huge wave, leaving a corridor behind. Standing there, flanked by Tubbo and, presumably Tommy, is George, and Dream thinks he might be the prettiest person he’s ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :DD i hope you enjoyed, this is my biggest project so far, i know it doesn't look it but, trust me,, you don't want to know how long my google doc is  
> anyway, comments and kudos are always appreciated, thanks for reading :)))  
> also my twitter is @itsspanner ,,, i dont know how to embed links D:


	4. 3 - George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which George is found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh another update!! im quite proud of this one so i hope you enjoy!!  
> i listened to alrighty aphrodite by peach pit on loop while writing this and, while it doesnt really fit with what ive written here, you should check it out sometime, it's a vibe :))))

George reluctantly gets up out of his bush, mourning the loss of peace and quiet, and follows Tubbo to wherever his dad is. Tommy trails behind them, unusually quiet, George thinks he might understand the gravity of the situation right now.

“George?” Tommy says from behind him, and George doesn’t even register it’s Tommy for a second, thrown off by the use of his real name.

“Yeah Tommy?” George slows down to walk alongside Tommy.

“I know this is all serious and shit so, I’d just like to wish you luck, whatever happens you’re gonna be fine Big Man,” Tommy says, not making eye contact with George, instead looking at the ground intently.

George smiles warmly at the younger, Tommy’s sincere words mean a lot and they do give him the comfort he was seeking. “Thank you Tommy,” George wonders if Tommy had picked up on the fact that he was secretly shitting himself out of fear and said that purposefully.

George’s thoughts are cut short by Tubbo slowing down in front of a huge group of people, “Is this it Tubbo?”

“Yeah dad’s standing at the front,” Tubbo nods towards the direction of the crowd.

George nods grimly and clenches his jaw for a second before relaxing it, he steps forward to push his way through the people but when he gets near they notice and part to make a corridor for him to walk down.

He looks up to see a tall blonde man standing next to an equally tall brunette. The blonde man wears a simple white mask with a smiley face crudely drawn on, he’s well built and George can’t help but trail his eyes down his frame, Someone clears their throat and George snaps his attention to them, embarrassed by his distraction.

The tall brunette that cleared his throat stalks towards George and he can’t help but be intimidated, taking half a step back to try and put as much space between them as possible.

“George,” He says, coming to a stop uncomfortably close to George and George prays in vain to any and all deities that this isn’t his final moments.

“Yes?” George doesn’t even recognise his own voice, it comes out small and shaky and he cringes at his own nervousness, thinking he must look really pathetic, cowering beneath this man- Tubbo’s dad Wilbur, he corrects himself. There’s no chance this is anyone but Tubbo’s dad and he sees the similarities appearance-wise but his threatening aura sets them apart, George can’t help but compare his demeanor to Tubbo’s open, innocent one and they couldn’t be more opposite.

“So you’ve been claiming to be better than me have you?” Wilbur says, leaning down condescendingly so he can make eye contact with George.

George’s eyes widen as he realises this is all a misunderstanding and he can maybe talk his way out of this, he scrambles to correct Wilbur, “No no no,” he rushes out, “it was all other people, I-”

George’s heart sinks, heavy with dread as Wilbur cuts him off with a shiteating grin, “I don’t want to hear your grovelling mortal, I might reconsider though if you kneel for me.”

As low as George’s opinion of himself is, he still has enough pride that he won’t let himself kneel before this man, be him a god or not. He sets his mouth in a grim line and shakes his head, a clear refusal.

Wlbur’s grin widens at the response, he’s clearly looking forward to whatever he’s going to do to George and the smaller brunette really wishes he was anywhere but here right now.

“Well George, since you’ve refused your only way out,” Wilbur says, his voice deep and silky, George thinks that in any other situation he’d find it relaxing, “I’m gonna challenge you to an archery competition, I hope you understand how privileged you are that I’m even giving you a chance rather than smiting you where you stand, but I’m feeling generous today.”

George doesn’t feel privileged, in fact he’d rather just be an ordinary guy right now, with no skills whatsoever, anything to get him out of where he was right now, pinned beneath the heavy gaze of this man - this god - who has the ability to take away his life with a click of his fingers.

Realising George isn’t going to give him an answer out of his crushing fear, Wilbur just continues to talk, “You have three hours to prepare.” Wilbur turns to walk away, his cloak flying behind him but he turns his head to look back at George, “Oh yeah, before I forget,” he says deceivingly amicable, “If you don’t beat me you die. Good luck.” And with that, Wilbur walks away, tugging the blonde man from earlier with him.

George chokes and his legs start to shake underneath him, _he might die_? Panic rises and he starts hyperventilating, his chest rising and deflating rapidly with big gulps of air. His vision blurs and he feels himself start to collapse, although it feels much more like watching his own body through a fog.

Tommy catches him with a firm arm around his shoulders and, after making sure George wasn’t about to throw up, half carries, half drags George out the way of the prying eyes of the crowd. Ironically enough they end up in the bush that George started off the day in.

Opening his eyes feels like a herculean effort so George opts instead to lie in the grass with his eyes closed until the dizziness passes enough for him to sit up.

“George?” Tommy questions, his voice sounds quiet and scared.

George cracks an eye open to look at the blonde boy concernedly, he tries to prop himself up on his elbow but the pounding in his head doesn’t allow it and he just lies back down, “Yeah Tommy? What’s up?”

“You’re not going to die are you?” Tommy looks up and makes eye contact with George, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I- Look Tommy come here,” George opens his arms and Tommy gratefully accepts the comforting hug, “I- I can’t exactly promise that right now, and you know that, but you know what?” Tommy looks up at George from where his head is resting on the brunette’s chest, “I’m going to try not to for you okay Big Man, so keep your head up and cheer for me okay?”

Tommy nods and agrees wetly, sitting up and wiping away the tears with the sleeve of his top, “You’re gonna do great Big G.”

George knows that logically this isn’t going to work out for him, Wilbur is the literal god of archery after all, but for Tommy, for Tommy he’ll try his hardest, “Course Tommy,” he says and smiles, hoping for a miracle, if not for his, but for Tommy’s sake. And he almost feels bad for lying to Tommy, because of course he isn’t going to be okay, but when he sees the relieved smile on the blonde boy’s face, George can’t help but feel he’s made the right choice, Tommy can be left in the dark for a little longer.

Tommy seems convinced by George’s words and he immediately perks up, buzzing with energy and confidence, “YEAH, YOU’RE DOING IT BIG G!”

George laughs and shushes Tommy, “They’re all gonna find us quiet down.”

“Oh yeah sorry,” Tommy quietens down and grins at George, “I just really think you’re gonna do it.”

George is amazed at Tommy’s undying confidence for him, even when he’s facing certain death against a god, Tommy’s still in his corner cheering for him, and maybe George didn’t appreciate Tommy enough this whole time, and now when he’s staring death in it’s deep, sunken eye sockets, George wishes maybe he had.

“Hey Tommy, I-” George starts to choke up, “I’m sorry Tommy but I need some time alone now, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” George meets Tommy's big, blue eyes, trying to get his point across as well as possible, “I really do okay, and, and,” George tips his head back and takes a deep breath to try and stop the tears from falling, “You’re like a brother to me, and I don’t think I tell you how much you mean to me enough so, yeah. I just, right now, I need space to think.”

Tommy nods slowly, struggling to process the information, he blinks slowly, blonde lashes grazing his pale cheeks with a light kiss, “Thanks George, it means more than you know, really. I’ll see you out there yeah? And I’ll be cheering your name, I always will.”

George gives Tommy one curt nod before the blonde boy crashes his way out the bushes, heading back in the direction of their town. 

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, George can no longer hold back the tears that he’d been holding back so as to not worry Tommy. He curls into himself, allowing the tears to flow freely, wet droplets causing his eyes lashes to clump together. He cries. He cries until his throat is sore and his head aches. He cries until he physically has no tears left to cry. 

Then George carefully wipes the tears away from his sore eyes and gathers himself in preparation to face everyone again. He takes deep breaths, counting each one, slowly bringing himself back to normal. George realises he can’t do much about the puffiness of his face and sighs, he’d rather everyone not know about the fact that he’d just cried his eyes out, but you know what, he’s probably about to die so George thinks he’s allowed a free pass.

George wants to get angry, wants to blame someone for the situation he’s in, his dad, the townsfolk, the people who started the rumour, Wilbur himself, but he just can’t find it in himself now, too emotionally exhausted to deal with anger, so he just resolves himself to his fate. He’s going to go down with a fight of course, but George can’t see many things that don’t lead to his immediate demise here.

He sits for so long there, in that familiar bush, that his bottom starts to go numb and he shivers in his short sleeves, goosebumps lining his skin. The sun slides below the tree line, stealing any and all remaining warmth that George was clinging on to. George wonders briefly why no one has come to find him yet, but it doesn’t really matter because they’ll find him when they’re ready.

Eventually though, his legs start to fall asleep and George just decides to go to find Wilbur, because prolonging this is cruel, can’t he just grant George this one small mercy. So he climbs out of the bush unsteadily, blood rushing back into his legs and starts heading to the town centre, grabbing his bow and quiver of arrows from his house on his way.

The setting sun shines in his eyes as he strolls into town and George hates this time of day, the beautiful, crisp blue of the sky drowned out by an unsatisfying, dirty orange. He doesn’t quite understand why they’ve decided to have this archery competition at a time when visibility is low but he supposes Wilbur has night-vision eyes or something and this is just another way to ensure George loses, as if he wouldn’t lose in broad daylight anyway.

He finds Wilbur standing in the town centre where he left the taller brunette earlier, he’s still with the tall blonde form earlier, although they both look distinctly angry and George can feel the tension between them. When Wilbur sees him, the taller man straightens his posture and slips a confident smile onto his face.

“George! I was about to come looking for you!” he says, opening his arms with his hands still in his pockets.

George simply nods, not trusting himself to speak out of fear of crying again, and he won’t let himself be weak, not in front of Wilbur. Wilbur seemingly takes that as an acceptable response and continues to talk, “Well you’re ready then, shall we go?”

George just nods again, steeling himself and trailing behind Wilbur and the blonde man when they turn and start walking out of town. He watches the rhythmic swaying of the blonde’s broad shoulders, trying in vain to pay attention to anything but his thought of the immediate future. The blonde man turns around, feeling the pressure of George’s stare on his back, the short brunette shivering when he meets the dead eyes of the mask that adorns the taller man’s face.

They arrive in the clearing where George usually practices and it’s been completely transformed in just a few short hours. The range has been lined with flaming torches and makeshift stands have been built and filled with what must be at least two hundred people. George shrinks under the piercing stares of so many people, really not fond of being the centre of attention, until he makes eye contact with Tommy, standing with Tubbo in the crowd, and the blonde gives him a reassuring smile. George straightens his shoulders and walks confidently to his place in front of the targets.

Wilbur turns to address the crowd, his confident smile still cemented on his face, almost like the mask the blonde man wears, “Esteemed guests, welcome to what you’ve all been waiting for. I, Wilbur, the god of archery, am going to graciously compete against this George you hold in such high regard. If I win, he dies and if he wins, well,” he laughs obnoxiously confident, “We’ll see what happens if it comes to that.” He then turns to George as if checking if that’s okay with him, but turns away before he gets confirmation of anything.

“It’s going to be best of three. We will now take our first shots,” Wilbur says and turns away from the crowd to face his first target.

The crowd falls into a frenzy, but George allows the noise to fade into the background, not letting the cacophony break his concentration. He puffs a deep breath out his mouth and locks his eyes onto the red dot of the bullseye as if staring it down, daring himself to miss. Wilbur may be the god here, but George has the advantage of home turf and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take it.

He takes another heaving breath in, taking an arrow out his quiver with shaking hands and slips it onto the bowstring with practiced ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! i hope you enjoyed this chapter, as always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :DDD  
> my twitter is @itsspanner1 because i still havent figured out how to embed links,,,,  
> and thanks for reading :)))


	5. 4 - George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which George and Wilbur have their competition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!new chapter!!! enjoy!! i hope you guys like it, the story is really starting to get started now!! :DDDD

The targets seem to swim before his eyes as he draws back the bowstring slowly and George blinks to clear his head. The crowd’s noise rises into a crescendo, roaring and stomping filling the air.

When the string is pulled taut, George feels his fingers brush lightly against his face, clammy in the cool night air. The string digs into them, no doubt leaving red lines. George takes a deep breath, refocusing on the target, his eyes locking onto the bullseye in the middle.

In.

Out.

He releases the arrow and it flies straight and true, cutting through the air beautifully. It finally lands with a thud, piercing the red bullseye and George lets out a breath he feels like he’d been holding for eternity. He swings round to Wilbur, ready to jeer at the other man, but when he turns around, the tall man is already looking at George triumphantly, arms crossed across his chest as if in waiting. And sure enough, Wilbur had also gotten a bullseye, although the arrow wasn’t perfectly centred like George’s is.

Wilbur raises his eyebrow, unimpressed, “Hm, you think that proves anything? Any fool could pick up a bow for the first time and hit a bullseye accidentally,” he sneers.

George stares back at him determinedly, eye contact not wavering, he isn’t going to show Wilbur that he intimidates George, no way, “Hmph well, you’ll see it isn’t just a fluke.”

With that they both turn back around to face their target, George smoothly pulls another arrow out of the quiver slung over his shoulder, admiring the sharp point of the tip before notching it. He turns to look at Wilbur for a second, just observing the other man as he slips his arrow onto the bowstring. His profile is regal, fluffy hair blowing softly in the slight wind and George hates him in that moment, this man- this god- more perfect than George will ever be, here just to make an example out of him. The rage settles in George’s chest like a lead ball, but instead of letting it pull him down he stands straighter, letting it envelop and fuel him.

He pulls the string back fully and looks down the shaft of the arrow, lining up with the target and releases. He tracks the arc of the arrow with his eyes and he knows it’s going off course before it hits the target, nudged slightly to the right by the light wind that George had forgotten to account for this time.

It hits the white circle surrounding the bullseye, painfully close to the red circle. George’s heart sinks and he feels distinctly sick, nausea turning his stomach. He can’t look at the crowd, doesn’t want to see the way Tommy’s face has assuredly dropped. He turns to Wilbur, the eagerness from last time nowhere to be seen.

And Wilbur’s already looking at him like he’s won, prideful grin nearly splitting his face in half, and George wants nothing more than to punch him in his perfectly straight teeth. Because this is unfair, it’s all unfair. He never compared himself to a god, he never wanted this, but Wilbur’s here anyway, and he’s gonna kill George for a crime he didn’t even commit. Tears start to prick his eyes and he blinks them away in vain, because Wilbur notices the glossing over of his eyes anyway and his smile grows impossibly wider at the sight.

“Not looking too hot now are you, Gogy?” he taunts George, using that demeaning nickname and George wonders if he can possibly hate Wilbur any more than he does in that moment. George forces himself to make eye contact with the taller man, not wanting to look weak, even now when he’s clearly losing. “You may as well give up now, save yourself the humiliation of another bad shot,” Wilbur jeers, his eyes scarily unhuman, reflecting the flickering light of the torches.

“I haven’t lost yet,” is all George says in return, before turning back to face his target, he won’t give Wilbur the satisfaction of knocking his already scattered focus further. And while realistically he knows he’s lost, he missed the bullseye, there’s no coming back from this, George can’t help but cling on to that one last thread of hope, that Wilbur might somehow miss.

So he pulls out his final arrow, his quiver feels light on his back now it’s empty, and just breathes for a second. The cool night air in his lungs stings slightly, bordering on painful, but George holds the breath, taking the time to refocus on what he has to do.

He looks down to his bow, fingers sliding over the familiar gentle curve of wood, if this is his last time doing what he’s best at, he may as well take his time and enjoy it. 

He notches his arrow, closing his eyes and enjoying the gentle wind on his face as he pulls the string back. The wind ruffles his hair where it lies flat on his head and cools the sweat that was gathering on his forehead, but George finds the breeze refreshing rather than chilly, appreciating what may be the final moments of his life.

When he opens his eyes again it’s because he's heard the dull thump of Wilbur’s arrow hitting its target, George doesn’t look over, he doesn’t need to look over, Wilbur has hit a bullseye like always. What matters now is how George pulls off his final shot. So he absorbs the cries and support of the crowd, smiling when he believes he can hear Tommy’s shouts above everything else. And now with everyone backing him and his belief in himself, George lets loose his final shot.

George watches the arrow fly through the air, not wavering in the wind and he knows that it’s gonna hit the bullseye, this is a shot he can be proud of. The arrow hits the bullseye, directly in the middle, splitting the previous arrow in half. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt elation like this moment, he split the arrow in half! George is amazed at himself and the shocked gasps of the crowd hype him up.

He turns to Wilbur, smiling, because, even though he’s still lost, at least it ended on the literal best shot of his life.

“Well good competition,” George says, his voice light and airy, as if he and Wilbur had just met at a park or something, not like he was facing his own death. George revels in Wilbur’s double take when he hears George speak, clearly not having expected George to be so carefree, but George isn’t weak and he’s not going to grovel for his life. It almost feels like a mental win, even though he hasn’t physically won, getting to watch the taller man be disappointed by George’s lack of grovelling was almost enjoyable.

“Well, I’ll admit, you were a nice challenge,” Wilbur smiles, and it’s the first smile he’s given George that hasn’t made George feel like he’s an animal being hunted, and then it slips back into his usual leer and George wonders if he was just hallucinating before, “but clearly not enough for a god like me. It was nice meeting you Gogy, such a shame you have to die now.”

“Not quite.”

George turns round so fast he thinks he gives himself whiplash. The person approaching, who George assumes is the person who spoke, is the blonde man that has been trailing Wilbur around the whole day, and in his hands appears to be some sort of tape measure?

The tall man stalks up to Wilbur and, although he isn’t quite as tall as Wilbur, George thinks the unknown man presents a far scarier figure, his long cloak not bulky enough to hide the strength or breadth of his shoulders. They appear to have a staring contest for a moment, George not quite knowing what’s going on due to the mask covering the blonde man’s face.

He seems to win whatever silent argument he and Wilbur were having though, the brunette inclining his head reluctantly as a signal that the other man can speak.

“Surely we should measure the distance from the exact middle to each arrow as a fairer look at overall accurateness, rather than just looking at the amount of bullseyes hit?” he says, not taking so much as a glance to George, all his focus on the tall brunette in front of him, and Wilbur’s reaction to his words.

George watches as Wilbur’s eyes widen a fraction before relaxing again, but George notes he looks distinctly less comfortable than before, and this fact gives him some sort of sick joy.

“You- no that’s not how-” Wilbur says, his voice deceptively calm, rushing his words out in a desperate attempt to regain some sort of control over the situation that the blonde man had hijacked.

His attempts are ultimately in vain though, when the blonde man interrupts him, leaning uncomfortably close to his face and baiting, “Oh so you don’t want to do that then, so you admit George might have won.”

George startles at the mention of his own name, having got lost in watching the strange exchange between the two men in front of him and he is surprised when both men turn to look at him, Wilbur’s gaze surprisingly fragile for someone who is meant to have won, and George feels uncomfortably exposed under the unreadable scrutiny of the beady, black eyes of the masked man.

Wilbur whips back around to face the blonde man again, and George doesn’t think he’s ever felt so relieved to not have someone looking at him, “Fine, have it your way,” Wilbur acquiesces, fiddling with the strap of his quiver where it was still slung over his shoulder, “He hasn’t won anyway.”

Wilbur shoots a dirty look at George and the shorter brunette can’t help but feel like a child being scolded, standing here on the range, with two people who were practically giants, so he decides to step up and say something, prove that he wasn’t here to be pushed around, “Yeah that sounds good to me,” but he ultimately regrets this decision when the only acknowledgement of his words was a quick glance the masked man threw his way.

George shrinks back into himself, sitting in silence as the blonde man approaches the targets, it’s not quite the same apprehensive quiet that the audience has fallen into, but it could be mistaken as such if you hadn’t heard the previous exchange. You could practically hear a pin drop in the still air, a direct contrast to the energy of the crowd earlier, the roaring and stomping nowhere to be seen now. George would like to think that this silence was because it had finally settled in to the crowd that the continuation of George’s life depends on the outcome of this measurement, but he knows that realistically they all just eagerly await the result for their own selfish enjoyment. If he was in the right headspace right now, George might have thought something about how Wilbur played perfectly into human’s sick habit of being unable to look away from something going horrifically wrong, the same kind of morbid curiosity you get when going past an accident, but as it is he just dismisses the entire line of thought from his head and watches the long line of the masked man’s legs as he strides down the range.

George thinks it’s cruel and teasing the way the blonde man ums and ahs over the measurements, his posture loose and relaxed throughout, as if George’s life wasn’t on the line and it was just any other regular day. He appears to come to a conclusion though, turning away from the targets with unintelligible digits scrawled on a scrap of paper, his masked face is, as always, inscrutable and this is the first time that George really finds fault with the mask, past the uneasy feeling that it gives him.

The man stops in front of George and Wilbur, George noticing the shaking of his hands from that way that the flimsy piece of paper flutters.

“It is with great regret that I inform you,” George’s heart sinks to his stomach, knees trembling beneath him as he waits with bated breath for the confirmation of what he was dreading; he hates that the blonde man pauses for dramatic effect, the acknowledge that George’s death was going to be public entertainment not a particularly enjoyable thing, “that by just one millimetre.”

He pauses again to let the realisation that it was such a small measurement that made the difference sink in before continuing, “That, Wilbur,” the tall brunette grins, secure in the knowledge that he had won, “You have lost.”

George takes sick satisfaction in the way Wilbur’s triumphant grin slides off his face, replaced by a shell shocked look, his jaw slack. It quickly twists into fury and Wilbur lunges at the masked man, hands clenching in his hoodie to haul him up close to his face, “How, how did I lose?” He yells, but George pays them no mind, allowing waves of elation to flow over him freely.

He’s done it, he’s won! George suddenly finds himself excited for the rest of his life in a way he hasn’t felt in years. He turns to the stands, eyes searching for Tommy in the stands, landing on the blonde boy who was struggling to fight his way through the crowd to make his way to George, Tubbo in tow behind him.

George shouts out to him, unable to contain his excitement, he just beat a fucking god, sue him he was allowed to be a bit hyper, “Tommy! Look, I did it, I won like I said I would!” George sheds his quiver quickly, spreading his arms wide as he pants with relief, “I’m alive Tommy!”

He almost can’t believe what’s happened, feeling like he was just watching himself react from outside his body, so it takes a second to register the way Tommy’s face suddenly drops. Confusion races through George’s veins, what was going on? Tommy’s gaze is fixed just over George’s head and so he turns around slowly, dread slowly dawning on him as he finds himself facing Wilbur. Wilbur, who has an arrow notch and his bowstring pulled taut. Wilbur, who was aiming his bow at George and releasing the arrow.

George can’t react, his feet feel like they are stuck to the ground, attempting to move his limbs just feels like wading through treacle. So he scrunches his eyes shut and braces himself for the intense pain of the arrow piercing his body.

But instead of the sting of an arrow impaling him, George feels a solid body colliding against him, overbalancing him and causing the both of them to roll over and over from the momentum. He can’t quite bring himself to open his eyes yet so he takes another moment to collect himself, pinned under the unknown person’s weight, George would usually find this suffocating, but he finds the pressure comforting.

When he finally pulls himself together he unscrews his eyes to meet… the flat plane of a mask staring down at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! :DDDD
> 
> i hope you guys liked it!! comments and kudos are always appreciated!!
> 
> also would anyone be interested in like reading the other perspective of events, because i have kind of a plan, not for every chapter but just like the other person's point of view sometimes,, it wouldnt be in this work, i would add another fic to the series. lmk if that's something that interests you!!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/itsspanner1)
> 
> also my twitter is still @itsspanner1 because i still havent figured out how to embed links,,,,

**Author's Note:**

> :DDDD i'm very excited to show you guys this when it's finished!!


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